


the night’s first star

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Series: letters home [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, One Shot, Rural, Sad, Small Towns, Unresolved Sexual Tension, basically my childhood, liminal space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 16:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: The sky is fading streaks of purple and black, with the darker shape of trees below. Here and there is the sillhouette of a deer, moving soft in the dark. A dog barks across the way. Someone is quietly smoking weed.Brienne lights a cigarette and sits on the flatbed of her truck, watching the stars come out.She wants to call Jaime.





	the night’s first star

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the other side of the war](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445404) by [bluecarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot). 

> written 05 october 2019.
> 
> *
> 
> for J.
> 
> this work is (in its way) a companion to “the other side of the war”. so i linked them.

The sky is fading streaks of purple and black, with the darker shape of trees below. Here and there is the sillhouette of a deer, moving soft in the dark. A dog barks across the way. Someone is quietly smoking weed.

Brienne lights a cigarette and sits on the flatbed of her truck, watching the stars come out.

She wants to call Jaime.

The first star is always Venus, low and fat, a warm blue against the horizon; her father taught her that. _Starlight, star bright _she’d said, and he said _You can’t wish on that star or it won’t come true. She’s a planet._

Implicit in his tone was the idea that wishing on a true star would make a difference.

_What about that one? Fuzzy and yellow._

_Mars, _said Selwyn. And there, lowering his head to her viewpoint, _that’s Jupiter. They’re often together._

_Lady Mars._

_No. All the other planets are named for men._

That was annoying, thought Brienne, a feminist even at nine years old: but it didn’t matter. Every night Venus came out first, and she was bright and beautiful and she held on to a thousand thousand wishes. _First star I see tonight._

Her smoke travels up, obscuring the view a moment. _I wish I may ..._

She wishes she’ll have the strength to keep back from calling him.

Maybe he’ll be drunk. Or with his stepsister.

Maybe, maybe.

Inhale; exhale.

_What are you doing tonight? _she asks him, silently.

_Nothin much._ The lazy indolence of his voice. _I hoped you’d call._

_Bullshit, _she tells him in imagination, and it feels so good she says it aloud. “You’re a fucking liar, Jaime Lannister.”

_What are you?_ he says. He’s not laughing now.

She stubs out the cigarette and lights another with shaking hands.

They were _friends_. Used to be friends. And then she walked in on him and his sister one day and Jaime swore he would do anything if she didn’t tell about it. _Whatever you want._

Brienne had only realized what she wanted when she saw him on his back and shirtless, moaning with pleasure, face flushed, lips swollen and a little apart.

Cersei was hidden — kneeling in front of him — but there was no doubt of her identity, and if Brienne had been confused in the least, his quick explanations, as he followed her out of the trailer, zipping himself up, were plenty. _This has never happened before —_

_Sure._

_She just —_

_Got it._

_Brienne, wait. _Catching her arm. _I know what this looks like. But we aren’t _really_ related. Only half. And — and this way she won’t get pregnant, you see?_

Practical Jaime.

_Please don’t tell, _he’d said.

She shook off his hand at that, furious. She was no snitch. _Who would believe me? _she snapped: and drove home crying.

She’d expected that to be the end of things — at least of their friendship — but Jaime still texted every damn day and called on the weekends, asking her out to a movie when something good showed up.

_Body Snatchers at the drive-in? my treat_

And when his brother was killed overseas, he came to her house with a bottle and pounded on the door til she answered.

_It’s the middle of the night._

_I had to get out. Everyone is talking and drinking and telling stories like they cared. I had to leave._

She opened the door enough to let herself outside — Jaime had never been into her house, and she planned to keep it that way. _Are you drunk?_

_Not yet, _he said, and showed her the fresh seal. _Help me out?_

  
In her truck, on the old saddle blanket, they’d drank to Tyrion.

He told her stories she’d never heard. Getting him out of trouble at school, mostly, when bigger kids wanted to start shit. And later when Tryrion started drinking, helping him there too. _He was in love with this girl, Tysha. Wanted fuck-all to do with him, anyone could tell, but he didn’t fucking listen to me. They caught him ready for it — pants down and cock out. Took some pictures. Said they’d be all over town by Monday._

Brienne hadn’t ever heard of this, couldn’t remember anything about it except something Jaime said, explaining away bruises: _Things got out of hand at a party. _

She took a drink. _What happened really?_

Jaime smiled. _The Lannisters happened._

Tysha had left town soon after that and so did some of the other kids; she remembered that too. It hadn’t mattered to Brienne so long as Jaime was still there.

  
The night they buried Tyrion was crisp, a summer night moving deeply into fall. Brienne was cold and Jaime had stopped crying awhile back, so she took the risk of tucking the blanket around them both.

_Thanks_. Jaime leaned his body against hers, briefly.

_No problem. _She passed over the whiskey._ Drink up._

_Why haven’t we ever fucked?_ he said.

Her heart thudded: that was the alcohol. _Pretty dumb to fuck someone when you don’t _want_ to fuck them._

_I’m serious. You’re usually available, aren’t you?_

_Thanks so much._

_The last guy you dated was Vile Hunt —_

_Hyle._

_And that was a year ago. More than that. Whatever happened to him?_

(A hand across her mouth; rough fingers fumbling at her jeans.)

_We broke up,_ she said.

_I never even kissed you, _said Jaime. _Why didn’t I ever kiss you?_

Brienne tried to laugh. _Shut up. You and me — we’re not like that._

_Why not?_ and his thumb was on her lip and his mouth was on her mouth and she let herself count to three four five six before she made herself move away and force a laugh, before Jaime pulled her closer again and now she ended up in his lap, straddling him, reaching one hand down to rub against the hardness growing.

_Brienne _he’d said in a voice like growling: and pushed her flat on the hard metal truckbed, crawling on top of her, whiskey spilled and forgotten.

Brienne too forgot where she was and with whom and why. She kicked out, yelling and swearing and crying.

It was a long minute before the fear dissolved and she could see him again.

_For fuck’s sake, _he said. His voice was muffled, he held a hand against his bleeding nose.

_I’m sorry._

_I wasn’t —_

_I know. I’m sorry. It isn’t you._

He stared at her. _Who is it, then?_

Brienne didn’t answer.

Finally Jaime said: _Remember Robert Baratheon?_

She did, vaguely, though he was older. Tall guy — black hair — sort of looked like a wild pig_. _All hair and grunting, that was Robert.

_He died in a hunting accident, _said Jaime._ You know, he’d dated Cersei for a while._

Again, Brienne didn’t reply.

_I’m gonna go._

_You can’t drive like this. Let me call someone to get you._

_I’ll walk. _The moon was risen high, a bloated circle, and he studied her in its light._ I’ll call you, _he said.

_Stay here, _said Brienne. _There’s plenty of room._

Jaime shook his head. _I’ll walk,_ he said again.

And he was gone.

There’s no moon tonight; only the thick velvet of the sky, dotted with immeasurably distant suns. Mars — or is it Jupiter? — is high and sparkling, beautiful. _I wish I may, I wish I might._

_Help me not to call him_, she says to the sky. _Help me not want him like this._

Her cigarette glows red; her phone, when she touches it, shines out cold blue.

Jaime picks up on the first ring. “Been a while,” he says, and the gladness in his voice sounds devastatingly real. “I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

**Author's Note:**

> coming to someone’s door in the middle of the night is never about politics.
> 
> *
> 
> In ASOIAF canon, Cersei deliberately withholds information from Jaime about how Robert treats her, so Jaime doesn't fucking kill Robert and end up with his head on a pike himself.
> 
> In my fic (if you're keeping count) Jaime beats the everloving shit out of a group of people and outright murders one.
> 
> He's offering to murder Hyle, too -- that's why Brienne doesn't tell him shit.


End file.
